


The Kings and Lady Dis

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [17]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:30:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is getting very drunk.  Why?  Because his sister is coming to stay and he hasn't seen her since her sons were killed.  Has she forgiven Thorin or will she try to drive a wedge between him and Thranduil as part of her revenge?</p><p>Part of my Two Kings saga, but can be read as a stand-alone.  First story in the series is King of the Antlered Throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and Lady Dis

The Kings and Lady Dis

 

Pt I

 

Step I: Get Drunk

 

“Dis is coming to stay,” said Thorin gloomily as he sat drinking with Dwalin in a dark corner of the dining hall.

 

“That’s good!” his friend responded encouragingly. 

 

“It is?” replied his king, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

 

“Well, you haven’t seen her since we all set out on the Quest.”

 

“Oh, you mean that Quest where, against her wishes, I took her two sons with me and then didn’t manage to protect them at the Battle of the Five Armies?”

 

“Oh,” said Dwalin; and his face fell.  “But, you wrote to her, didn’t you?  And you sent her a portion of the treasure?”

 

“Blood money,” muttered Thorin.  “Nothing can bring Fili and Kili back.  I was an arrogant fool to take them.”

 

“But she can’t blame you: they were young warriors, the heirs of Durin.  They had a right to be there, beside their king.”

 

“Well, let’s just say,” sighed said king, “that I don’t think she has forgiven me.  She didn’t turn up for my wedding.”

 

Dwalin racked his brain to find something comforting to say.  “It’s a long way from Ered Luin,” he finally suggested.

 

“Or, perhaps it’s a long way when it involves a brother whom you blame for the deaths of your sons and an elven king whom you haven’t forgiven either for his desertion of Erebor when the dragon came.”

 

“Oh,” said Dwalin again.  “Well,” he added brightly, after a pause, “this will give you all the opportunity to kiss and make up, won’t it?”

 

“Will it?” was the bitter response.  “She’s always been a brooder, like me.  She even looks like me.  I reckon she’s coming to take revenge.”

 

Dwalin snorted.  “How on earth can she take revenge on you, the King under the Mountain?  What power can she possibly have over you?”

 

Thorin looked despondent.  “I’m not sure how she’ll do it, but she’ll try to break up my relationship with Thranduil because she begrudges me my happiness.”  He sighed again.  “And I can’t say that I blame her.”

 

“Have another drink,” was all that his friend could think to say.

 

.o00o.

 

Quite a few drinks later and Thorin had passed through the maudlin stage, the raucous stage, the aggressive stage and the weepy stage.  So, now he had come full circle.  Dwalin was drunk too, although his massive frame could handle the alcohol a bit better than Thorin’s slightly smaller one.

 

The king was crying into his wine at the moment, full of self-pity, and it had been a long time since the dwarven warrior had seen him so drunk.  “Come on,” he said, dragging Thorin to his feet and supporting him with his shoulder.  “Let’s walk it off and then I’ll get you home.”

 

They staggered up and down the endless corridors for some time but with no visible sobering effect.  Dwalin gave up in the end and offered to take Thorin back to his apartments for the elf to look after.  The dwarven king stopped dead and looked at him blearily.

 

“ ’Snot a good idea, that,” he slurred.  “Th’anduil’s never seen me drunk.  ‘Snot a good idea.  Shock him.”  And Dwalin remembered how elves seemed able to hold huge quantities of drink without turning a hair.  Drunkenness was not something that you saw at any elven court.

 

“Come back to my place,” he finally suggested with a sigh, “and we’ll try to sober you up there.”

 

Once there, Dwalin went off to make a herbal tea.  Perhaps that would work.  When he returned, he found Thorin slumped on the floor, propping himself against the bed.  He sat down next to him and tried to make him drink from the cup but the king just lolled against him and closed his eyes.  “Wanna sleep,” he mumbled and he burrowed into his friend’s great chest and slipped an arm around his waist.

 

Dwalin sat there with gritted teeth.  He did not want this close contact with Thorin.  It was too disturbing – upsetting even.  He tried to shake him gently awake but this just encouraged the king to hang on more tightly and to throw a muscular thigh over his own, with a knee dug firmly into his groin.  Dwalin drew in a steadying breath.  Thanks be to Mahal that he was drunk too, otherwise he would have an embarrassingly large hard-on.  Thorin was muttering in his sleep and tears kept sliding down his face.  And his friend could hear the names of his nephews on his lips.  What a tragedy that had been!  So young; so merry; so reckless.  Their uncle was obviously still a long way from getting over their deaths.  Dwalin stopped trying to push him away but, instead, wrapped him in a gentle embrace and made shushing noises, whilst Thorin slipped a hand inside his shirt and rested it over the great warrior’s heart.

 

Dwalin sighed.  He felt so much love and tenderness for Thorin and had spent one glorious night with him.  But his duty was to make his king happy and since his happiness lay with Thranduil, all these unwanted emotions needed to be contained.   And so, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the knee pushing against his prick and the fingers brushing his nipple.  Instead, he would count orcs and perhaps that would make him slip into unconsciousness too.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

Step 2: Get Sober

 

Thranduil was making enquiries about Thorin in the dining hall – again.  And when he was told – again – that the king had made his exit with Dwalin, then he – again – tried to keep his jealous suspicions under control.  After all, it had been perfectly innocent the last time, hadn’t it?  But when he reached Dwalin’s rooms, he knocked and immediately let himself in.  And I wonder why I didn’t wait for a polite invitation to enter, he asked himself cynically.  Then he stopped abruptly on the threshold of the bedroom.

 

The two were sprawled on the floor, propped up by the bed.  Thorin’s hand was inside Dwalin’s shirt and his knee was pressed firmly up against his friend’s crotch.  He was nestled in the great dwarf’s embrace and appeared to be asleep.  Dwalin, on the other hand, was wide awake and staring up at him.  Why was it, thought Thranduil angrily, that, whenever he went looking for Thorin, he would find him in an intimate embrace with someone?

 

“He’s drunk,” said the dwarf in a hoarse whisper.  “I’m a bit drunk too and we’re trying to sober up.”

 

Thranduil advanced on the pair with a grimly set face.  “I’ll deal with that,” he snarled.  And he bent down and, scooping up his lover in his arms, he marched with him out of the room.  Dwalin rolled his eyes.

 

.o00o.

 

The elven king attracted quite a few fascinated glances from those he passed on the way back to their apartment.  The lips of one guard who was standing to attention at the end of a corridor twitched slightly as he imagined that the elf had been overcome by an uncontrollable moment of passion.  A kindly dwarven lady was concerned that Thorin had suddenly been taken ill.  Another dwarf surmised that the pair had been involved in one of their many arguments and that Thranduil had knocked his king unconscious – and the thought made him glare and place his hand upon his sword.

 

But Thranduil pressed on with his burden, ignoring all the startled looks, until he finally shouldered his way through the door of their rooms where he flung Thorin on the bed.

 

Thorin giggled.  And then he hiccupped.  Then he stretched out his arms to Thranduil: “C’mon.  Givvus a big, wet, sloppy kiss,” he slurred.

 

Yes, he definitely was drunk, the elf thought.  He had reached this conclusion after that embarrassing walk through the corridors of Erebor as Thorin had snored against his chest and drooled all over his best silken gown.  He was not especially familiar with this condition since it was a state little witnessed in Mirkwood, although an excess of strong wine could make one a little sleepy.  He had seen something of drunken behaviour in the dining hall here, when the dwarves would sometimes burst into loud singing; but when the two kings were present, they usually restrained themselves.  And when he had found Thorin and Brangwyn in each other’s arms that time, they had both _claimed_ that they were drunk but he hadn’t hung around long enough to find out if their inebriation consisted of more than a display of inappropriate behaviour.

 

But, Thorin now lay on the bed and seemed to have lost all control of his speech and his limbs.  He looked hot and sweaty, there was dribble on his chin and he was grinning inanely.  Thranduil had never seen him look less desirable than he did now.  He came to the bed and pulled off the dwarf’s boots; and then he began to undo his clothing.  Thorin giggled some more, and, grabbing Thranduil by his hair, pulled him down for a slobbery kiss.  The taste of stale wine on his lips was disgusting.

 

“Are you gonna ravish me?” he asked throatily.  And then he burst out laughing.

 

“No,” said Thranduil coldly, “I am undressing you. After which I shall put you to bed and you will then go to sleep.”

 

“Ooooo,” hooted Thorin, “we are being pompous tonight, aren’t we?”  And he started giggling again.

 

Thranduil ignored him and covered his beautiful body with a sheet: even drunkenness couldn’t disguise that. Then he began to take off his own clothes.  “Not so disgusting that you can’t bear to sleep with me,” smirked Thorin.

 

“Actually,” was the icy response, “I shan’t be sleeping with you.  I shall remove myself to the sofa.”  And with that, he picked up a pillow and a discarded coverlet and sailed off into the other room.  But, as he made up his bed, a naked Thorin suddenly ran past him, snorting with uncontrollable mirth.  “Where are you going?” yelled a startled elf.

 

Thorin paused briefly at the door, grinning widely.  “For a midnight stroll down the corridors,” he tittered.  And then he was gone.

 

.o00o.

 

The guard on duty at the end of the corridor was treated to the amazing sight of his king, stark naked, streaking past him, immediately followed by an equally naked Thranduil in pursuit. The elf took a dive for the dwarf’s legs and brought him down.  And if the dwarven king hadn’t been almost choking with laughter, the guard might have leapt to his defence.  Then Thranduil carried his struggling and squirming captive back down the corridor, pausing briefly to confront the guard.  “You saw nothing,” he barked.

 

“No, sir,” replied the sentry, gazing innocently at the ceiling.  “Nothing, sir.”  But, as the elf disappeared with Thorin back into their rooms, he shook his head.  _Kings and their love lives_ , he thought.  _Overly complicated, if you ask me._ But, since no-one did ask him, he went silently and dutifully back to his job.

 

.o00o.

 

An exasperated Thranduil tucked Thorin back under the sheet and got in beside him, pinning him to the mattress.  “Couldn’t resist my boo’ful body, then?” slurred the dwarf, looking very pleased with himself.  The elven king glared at him and tightened his grip.  Satisfied that he had got his way, Thorin snuggled into his lover, tucked his hand under the elf’s genitals and was soon snoring very loudly.

 

Both the snores and the hand kept Thranduil awake and he soon had a huge erection.  By the time that dawn came, he was seriously frustrated and fuming.

 

Thorin awoke with a crick in his neck and a loud groan.  He patted his lover’s aroused member in a kindly fashion and said: “Sorry, my love, but I really couldn’t manage anything this morning.  I have _the_ most appalling headache.  Was I drinking last night, or something?  My mind’s a blank.”

 

Thranduil could have kicked him out of bed.  “You were drunk,” said the elf tersely.

 

 _Oh dear_ , thought Thorin, bothered by the tone of his voice.  “Umm, did I behave badly?” he asked tentatively.

 

“It’s all according,” said a tight-lipped Thranduil, “as to how one defines ‘badly’.”

 

 _Oh-ohh_ , thought Thorin.  _He only uses ‘one’ when he is NOT amused_.   And then he waited.

 

“You ran down the corridor,” said the elf at last, “completely naked.  And I was forced to pursue you….completely naked too.”

 

Thorin clutched his splitting head. “Did anyone see us?” he groaned. 

 

“Only a guard,” was the response.  “And I persuaded him that he had seen nothing……although I’m sure that the sight of us is vividly seared upon his memory.”

 

He paused again and Thorin had a feeling that something even more serious was coming.  “And you were squeezing my cock in a drunken stupor all night and now I don’t know what to do with myself.”  And on that indignant note, he climbed out of bed – _Ah, yes_ , thought Thorin, _I see what you mean_ – and marched into the next room for a long soak in the bath.

 

The dwarf got dressed – slowly and painfully – and then came and sat by the side of the bath.  “I’m really, really sorry,” he said.  And he had such a sweet, hang-dog expression that Thranduil forgave him straight away.  However, he wasn’t going to let him know that yet: he would turn the screws for a bit.

 

“I found you with Dwalin last night,” was all he said.  “You were sprawled on the floor of his apartment with your hand inside his shirt and your knee planted firmly against his cock.”

 

Thorin blushed.  Thranduil must never find out about him and Dwalin.  That was rather careless of them both.

 

The elven king noted his change of colour.  “You do well to blush,” he snapped.  “What a little prick-tease you were last night. Dwalin warned me you were drunk when I carried you away but I wasn’t aware of what I was taking on.”  He paused in his tirade for a moment.  “Why _did_ you get drunk?” he finally asked.

 

Thorin wrinkled his forehead.  Yes, why had he got drunk?  And the answer came to him all in a rush.  “Dis is coming to stay,” he blurted out.

 

Thranduil got out of the bath immediately and wrapped Thorin in his arms.  “I’m so sorry,” he said.  “This is going to be really difficult for you. I can see why you needed a few stiff drinks.”  He kissed him gently on the forehead: “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

 

 _Perhaps you could help by disappearing off to Mirkwood_ , the dwarf thought.  But he was selfish enough to need his partner by his side when he faced the anguish and the wrath of his sister.  After that, going back to bed together seemed like a good idea, even though he still had a headache.  The sex was explosive and left Thorin very sore and Thranduil very relieved.

 

“Thank Eru,” the elf gasped as his cock finally went limp.  “Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Step 3: Face the Problem

 

Dis arrived on horseback and accompanied by a small retinue of fellow dwarves from Ered Luin.  All except Dis looked excitedly about them as they rode into the great courtyard: they had not seen Erebor for years, not since Smaug had driven them out, and their hearts were moved.  Dis, however, was stony-faced.  _No signs of a joyful reunion there,_ thought Thorin glumly.

 

He stepped forward and helped her from her horse and then embraced her in a great bear hug.  “Welcome home,” he said gently.  “You have been absent for far too long and I have missed you.”

 

Dis kissed him coolly on the cheek: “It will be wonderful to walk the halls of Erebor once more,” she said.  Then she stepped away from him and stared at Thranduil who was waiting politely to be introduced.

 

“Umm, I would like you to meet Thranduil, my marriage partner,” he said.  There was a slight pleading tone in his voice as if he were asking her to be kind.

 

The elven king took her gracefully by the hand and kissed her fingers.  Dis acknowledged this with a gracious tilt of her head and Thorin heaved a sigh of relief that all was going reasonably smoothly so far.

 

Thranduil was fascinated by Dis.  This was the first time he had seen her and the resemblance between her and her brother was remarkable.  She was a fine, strapping woman with long, black hair, touched with silver now, a rich, melodious voice and the same majestic stance as Thorin.

 

Dis was equally fascinated by Thranduil.  She had not been present when the elven king had visited Erebor all those years ago but she remembered the flight from the Lonely Mountain and the dreary weeks and months wandering in the wilderness.  This was not something that she easily forgave or forgot.  And she was shocked and amazed that her brother would let the elf – however ethereal his beauty – take him to his bed, there to do….such things!  It was not right; it was not dwarven.  She bit her lip and controlled herself as best she could.

 

Thorin accompanied her to her old apartment which had been refurbished luxuriously with fine furniture and many rich hangings.  “It’s lovely, Thorin,” she said with genuine surprise.

 

“I did it for you as soon as I knew you were coming,” he replied with a modest blush.  “Thranduil chose the materials,” he added.  “He has better taste than me.”

 

She wandered around the room touching everything.  “It feels like home,” she finally said with a smile.

 

Thorin knew this was the moment to say certain things rather than leaving them dangling oppressively between them.  He took her hands in his and whispered bravely: “I want to say sorry, Dis.  They were killed right in front of me and there was nothing I could do.  Not a day goes by that I don’t see that scene played out in my mind, over and over.”

 

She looked down at their clasped hands and, finally, raising her head to look him straight in the face, she murmured: “It’s all right, Thorin.  We must remember them in our hearts and move on.”

 

The feeling of relief that swept over him at that moment was so immense that Thorin felt dizzy.  She had forgiven him and now they must work hard to rebuild their relationship.

 

.o00o.

 

“She has forgiven me,” he repeated to Thranduil that night as they lay in bed together.  He had not burdened his lover with his concerns over Dis’ intentions and the elf thought that his distress and his drinking had been caused by having to face the mother of his dead nephews for the first time and the problem of having to explain to her why he had married ‘the enemy’.

 

“And did she mention me?” the elf asked.

 

“Not yet,” was the reply.  “I’ll save that conversation for another day.  In the meantime, you must charm her so that she will understand why I wanted you as my partner.”

 

“And is my charm the only reason why you wanted me?” asked Thranduil in a sultry voice, pulling Thorin’s muscular and hairy body against his lithe and smooth one.

 

“You’ll have to remind me,” grinned Thorin, showing all his strong, white teeth.  The elven king pressed a hardened cock firmly into his belly.  “Ah,” said the dwarf.  “That might be one reason.”

 

Then Thranduil seized his buttocks and, squeezing them fiercely, proceeded to show him a number of other reasons as to why Thorin preferred him above all others.  It was a demonstration that lasted at least half the night.

 

.o00o.

At breakfast in the dining hall the next morning, Thorin tried to hide the yawns behind his hand.  Dis could only guess at why her brother felt so tired and experienced a measure of disgust.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Thorin, “but I’ve got a council meeting today.  Thranduil will look after you, I’m sure,” he smiled.  “Perhaps you can go riding together.  It will be lovely for you to see all your old haunts.”

 

Dis nodded.  “I’d enjoy that,” she said sweetly.  And Thorin felt pleased that his lover and his sister would have the opportunity to get to know each other better.

 

Dis and Thranduil rode out together an hour later.  They raced each other across the great plain that lay before Erebor and then wound their way slowly up into the hills that overlooked the dwarven stronghold.  They paused for a moment to admire the view.  Thranduil guiltily remembered how he and his army had stood here as Smaug made his attack and Dis remembered how the elven king had turned his back on the refugees as they had all streamed out of the Lonely Mountain. 

 

“What a beautiful day!” said Dis.  “How I loved riding out with Thorin when we were both young together!”

 

Thranduil was curious.  “What was he like when he was young?” he asked.  “Was he just as grumpy then as he is now?”  And he raised a satirical eyebrow.

 

“Oh, no,” she smiled.  “He was so good-natured.  Everyone loved him and he was really funny – we were always laughing when we were in his company.”

 

“Funny?” said the elf in amazement.  “Are we talking about the same person?”

 

Her face fell.  “You never knew him as he was then.  He became so stern and sad after we left Erebor.”  Then she perked up.  “But I’m so glad he’s met you.”

 

“You are?” asked Thranduil cautiously.

 

“Of course I am,” she replied.  “I haven’t seen him look so happy in a long time.”

 

Thranduil couldn’t help but send her a pleased grin.  “So, tell me more about him when he was young,” he said.

 

And so Dis rattled on about their childhood together and how popular Thorin and his brother, Frerin, were as they got older.  “They had so many friends here and even among the young men of Dale.”

 

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” said Thranduil, a slight cloud darkening his brows.

 

“And I used to tag along in their wake, basking in their reflected glory,” she laughed.  “We all had so much fun together.”  And then she paused for a moment before continuing.  “Of course, looking back, I suppose that many would say that their behaviour was debauched.”

 

“Debauched?!” exclaimed the elf, pulling his mount to a startled halt.

 

“Well, yes,” she said in surprise.  “You must know from your own experience that people tend to throw themselves at princes, especially the good-looking ones – and it is very difficult for a young dwarf to resist what is so willingly cast in their way.”  And she gave a merry laugh.  “And my brothers certainly didn’t resist.”

 

Thranduil was stunned.  He couldn’t believe her – she must be lying.  He was absolutely certain that Thorin had been a virgin when he had first come to his bed. 

 

But Dis was still talking.

 

“And whatever some people might think of their behaviour, there came a time when I was truly grateful for their experience.”

 

“In what way?” he managed to stutter.  Remembering how shy and tentative the dwarf had been when he had first taken him to his bed, Thranduil was having a hard time imagining Thorin with ‘experience’.

 

“Well,” she sighed, “it’s a long story.”

 

“I’ve got time,” he said tersely.

 

“I met Vili,” Dis continued, with a faraway look in her eye, “when I was quite young and silly.  I fell completely in love with him.  It was a truly passionate affair – and I was foolish enough to let him bed me.  I suppose I was influenced by the behaviour of my brothers and it didn’t seem wrong at the time, even though we dwarves are supposedly committed to pre-marital chastity.  But it was a very turbulent relationship and, after we had had a violent row, he left me and disappeared from Erebor.”

 

“Sounds familiar,” said Thranduil, thinking of the many arguments he had had with Thorin.

 

“It was only after he had gone that I realised how stupid I had been.  As a princess of Erebor, my father expected me to get married and have children.  But, how could I get married when I was no longer a virgin?  The shame it would bring upon the house of Durin once any future husband discovered this didn’t bear thinking about.”

 

“So, what did you do?” asked a curious Thranduil.

 

“I went to see Thorin.  We were very close and I could talk to him about anything.  I knew he would be able to advise me.  Of course,” she grinned, “he was really mad at me for being so reckless but, under the circumstances, he knew any condemnation would just be hypocritical.  And so, he sat me down and told me what to do.”

 

“Told you what to do?” asked the elven king.  And he turned his horse towards her and sat very still.

 

“Oh, yes,” said Dis brightly.  “He had visited all these brothels in Dale and knew how a number of the young women there – and even some of the boys – were wheeled out by their owners as ‘virgins’, if that’s what the customer asked for.  He got to know some of them very well and they used to laugh together over how they carried out their deceit upon unsuspecting customers.  He told me what I had to do on my wedding night should I finally accept an offer of marriage.”  And she laughed.

 

“Did he really?” said the elf between gritted teeth.

 

“Yes, it’s partly to do with your innocent manner and partly to do with, in a woman’s case, screaming a lot after the initial penetration and using a sachet of concealed blood.”

 

“And in a boy’s case?” asked Thranduil coldly.

 

Dis didn’t seem to notice his icy manner but continued: “Well, the boys who were lined up to play the virgin on occasion were usually quite willing to indulge in any form of sex with regular customers except for too much buggery.  They had to be careful not to damage themselves so that they would feel nice and tight for the occasional customer who thought it was their first time.”

 

 _And is that what Thorin did_ , Thranduil thought to himself?  And he felt sick to the pit of his stomach.

 

“But, things all worked out well for me in the end,” she finished.  “After a year, Vili returned from his travels in Middle-earth and we apologised to each other: we got married and I had my two sons.”  She paused for a moment as she saw the thunderous look on Thranduil’s face.  “But perhaps I shouldn’t have told you all this,” she said.  And when Thranduil didn’t answer, she kicked her horse and yelled over her shoulder.  “Come on!  I’ll race you to the gate!”  And she was gone.

 

The elven king sat for a long time gazing into the far distance before riding slowly back to Erebor.  Then he went straight to the Library.

 

P IV

 

Step 4: Get Drunk Again

 

When it was time for dinner, Thorin stuck his head briefly around the door.  “Oh, there you are,” he said.

 

Thranduil bent further over his manuscripts.  “Sorry, Thorin,” he said.  “I shall be involved with this for hours.  A servant has brought me a plate of food.  “Don’t wait up.”

 

And Thorin wondered if he had had a hard day with Dis and needed some time to himself.

 

Late that night, when most had gone to bed, Thranduil turned up in the dining hall, sat at a table and ordered a bottle of wine.  He was found some hours later by Dwalin who was often awake, wandering about restlessly until the early hours, ever since he had spent that time with Thorin.  The dwarf looked at the table, strewn with various glasses and an enormous number of empty bottles.  “Who have you been drinking with?” he asked with a grin.

 

Thranduil gave him an icy glance and said very slowly and very carefully: “I have been drinking with no-one.  I have been drinking with myself.”

 

Knowing about the elves’ legendary capacity for alcohol, Dwalin gave a shout of laughter: “And I suppose you’re not even vaguely tipsy.”

 

“I believe,” said Thranduil, still very slowly and with studied concentration, “I am what you might call drunk.  But, since the sensation is not familiar to me, I cannot be confident that this is the case.”

 

Dwalin joined the elf at the table with a puzzled frown.  “So, what’s driven you to drink, Thranduil, if I may ask?”

 

Thranduil drew a deep breath and, focusing very carefully on the glass in front of him, he replied: “I know you are a staunch friend of Thorin, Dwalin, but you need guard his secrets no longer because I now know the truth about him.”

 

“What?” said Dwalin.

 

But the elven king just gave him a look full of pain and then – very gracefully – he fell sideways from his chair and sprawled in an unconscious heap on the floor.  The big dwarf raised an eyebrow in disbelief and then he gestured forward a number of hovering servants.  “Carry him to my apartments,” he said.  “I think our elven king needs sobering up.”

 

.o00o.

 

When Thranduil came to, he found himself lying on a bed with Dwalin looming over him.  “How are you feeling?” the dwarf asked.

 

“Sick,” said the king.  And Dwalin thrust a bowl under his chin which the elf managed to fill quite copiously.

 

He was lowered gently back onto the pillow again.  “My head really hurts,” he groaned.

 

“It’s called a hangover,” snorted the dwarf.  “Try this.”  And he thrust an evil-smelling concoction at him which had been made up by one of the servants.

 

Thranduil managed to choke it down.  “Why,” he asked in a faint voice, “why do people drink to get drunk?  Surely feeling like this just once is lesson enough?”

 

Dwalin sat down by the side of the bed.  “They drink to forget, to feel temporarily happy and to dull the edge of pain.  What were you trying to achieve?  And what was that nonsense you were talking about Thorin before you passed out?”

 

“I think it’s none of your business,” said Thranduil rather snottily.

 

“Well, if it’s about Thorin – my friend and my king – then I think it is,” was the short reply.  “So, what are all these secrets I’m supposedly keeping from you?”  And Dwalin had his fingers crossed that this wasn’t the secret about his one night stand with the king.

 

Thranduil pulled himself into a sitting position and looked furiously at the dwarf: “Those secrets about your young life together – the debauchery that went on – both here, in Erebor, and in Dale! The lovers, the prostitutes, the brothels!”

 

“What on earth are you talking about?” asked Dwalin in amazement.

 

“You’re putting on a good act,” sneered Thranduil, “but the Lady Dis herself told me all about it yesterday.”

 

Dwalin sat very still.  “Dis,” he said quietly.

 

“Yes, Dis!  And once she had told me everything about her brother and my lover – everyone’s lover, it would appear – I needed to get drunk in order to forget and to take the edge off the pain.  And now,” he said quietly, “I must decide if I can still live with Thorin, knowing what I know.”

 

Dwalin stood up abruptly.  “Don’t move from this bed,” he snapped, “until I return.”

 

The king lay back on the pillow with his hand to his head.  “I don’t think I could move from here,” he groaned, “even if you paid me.”

 

.o00o.

 

It was the middle of the night but Dwalin thundered on Thorin’s door and then let himself in.

 

“Whassup?” said Thorin blearily as he saw the dwarf standing by his bed.

 

“Get dressed,” snapped Dwalin, “and come with me.  This is serious.”

 

A puzzled Thorin dragged on a robe and then stumbled after his friend down the long corridors.

 

.o00o.

 

Back on the bed, Thranduil had a hand to his head and he was trying to think.  He thought about Thorin and their first time together, after the Battle of the Five Armies.  The dwarf had boldly invited him to dinner, alone in his rooms, and had made advances upon him.  But these advances had not seemed like those of someone practised in the art of love: he had been gauche when he had meant to be subtle and, overwhelmed with the thought that Thorin loved him and had bravely made a play for him, Thranduil had willingly followed him to his bed.

 

It had been a wonderful night.  Thorin had been endearingly clumsy, knowing nothing about anything, and it had been up to the elven king to show him what to do.    Thranduil could still picture him very clearly sitting astride his lap, lowering himself very cautiously onto the elf’s engorged member whilst Thranduil had panted with anticipation, clutching at the dwarf’s hairy and muscular thighs.  It had been a dazzlingly wonderful moment for him – for them both, he had thought – when, after the misunderstandings of so many years, they had finally been joined as one.  Up until now, he had treasured it as the most beautiful moment of his life.

 

But, after that conversation with Dis, what was he to think?  He went over the evening with Thorin again and, in the light of all that new information about lovers and brothels, he began to see how the dwarven king had obviously pretended his naivety and ignorance.  Yes, he had been satisfyingly tight for someone who had had endless lovers over the years but Dis had explained how, with a certain measure of sensible caution, the ‘virgins’ in the whorehouses of Dale had managed to convince their customers of this.  His dear, sweet, innocent Thorin had been nothing but a practised whore himself who had tricked the elf into believing that he was the first and only.

 

He should leave for Mirkwood this very night.  But, could he?  And was he being a hypocrite?  He remembered the endless satisfying hours of love-making – or should he call it fucking? – that he and Thorin had spent together.  What a lover the dwarf had been!  He was so willing, so enthusiastic, so imaginative – all doubtless because of tricks he had picked up over a period of time.  But now, did Thranduil have the right to object when he had reaped the benefits of it?

 

So, what was his problem?  It was the deception that hurt him.  And this was what he couldn’t bear to live with.  Yes, he would have to leave, he knew it.

 

At that moment, Dwalin came crashing into the room with Thorin in tow.  Thranduil winced and clutched his head once more.  When Thorin saw his partner looking pale and interesting on the bed, he ran to his side.  “Why didn’t you tell me he was ill?” he growled at Dwalin over his shoulder.

 

“He’s not ill – he’s getting over a drunken spree,” was the short reply.

 

Thorin looked taken aback and, sitting on the bed, clasped one of the elf’s hands.  Thranduil felt as if he should snatch it away; instead, he left it there, feeling some kind of strange comfort in the warmth of the dwarf’s grasp.  “Drunk!” exclaimed Thorin.  And then he laughed. “I didn’t think that was possible.  What on earth is all this about, my love?”

 

Thranduil wanted to shout that it was all about the lies that Thorin had been telling him, but when he looked up into those beautiful blue eyes, now full of concern, the words stuck in his throat.

 

“Spit it out, Thranduil,” growled Dwalin.  “Tell him what you told me.”

 

But to voice it to Thorin would somehow make it true.  And the elf continued to stare pitifully at his lover.

 

Impatiently, Dwalin turned to Thorin.  “It’s as you predicted, my king,” he said.  “Dis has told him about the hundreds of lovers you had when you were young and the brothels you frequented in Dale.”

 

Thorin turned angrily on the elf and slowly withdrew his hand.  “And you believed her,” he snarled.  And he rose from the bed and headed for the door.  But, Dwalin got there first.

 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said.  “You were afraid that Dis would drive a wedge between the two of you and now you’re succumbing to her plans.  Get back there and sort it out!”  And he stood with his arms folded in front of the exit.

 

Thorin turned back to the bed.  “Tell me it isn’t so,” pleaded the elf, “….that what she said was all lies.”

 

“If you loved me – if you loved me _enough_ – you would know it isn’t true and that it was just Dis seeking revenge for her loss,” said the dwarf accusingly.  “I thought she might try to come between us - but then I believed that she had forgiven me and that we were safe from her machinations.”

 

A tear ran down Thranduil’s cheek.

 

Dwalin rolled his eyes.  “By Mahal, Thorin,” he grunted, “go and give him a kiss – or a cuddle – or a fuck – or something, before I punch you both on the nose.”  And he stomped out of the room.

 

Thranduil lay back on his pillow looking utterly miserable whilst Thorin glowered on the threshold.  Then the dwarf asked hesitantly: “Did you really get drunk?”

 

“Absolutely paralytic,” said the elf with a faint smile.  “I passed out on the floor.”

 

Thorin took a few steps towards the bed.  “I bet your head hurts,” he said.

 

“It’s not as bad since Dwalin forced a disgusting ‘cure’ down my throat.”

 

Then Thorin took him in his arms and kissed him.  “I don’t suppose,” he said hesitantly, “that you could manage that fuck that Dwalin was suggesting.”

 

“Anything,” said the elf.  And he threw back the coverlet and made room for Thorin beside him.

 

Thranduil somehow expected it to be a punishing session but Thorin was so gentle and sweet and tender that the elf was almost reminded of their first night together.  And he wondered at himself that he had ever imagined that it had all been a pretence.

 

As he lay in Thorin’s arms afterwards with the dwarf softly kissing and caressing his body, he asked: “What will you do about Dis?”

 

Thorin sighed.  “Don’t think about her for the moment.  I’ll sort her out in the morning.”

 

.o00o.

 

But, when the morning came, it was Dwalin who took the initiative and went along to Dis’ apartment.  He wasn’t surprised when he found her packing.

 

“Running away?” he asked as he walked in unannounced.

 

Dwalin was very fond of Dis.  He had been allowed to join the Thorin/Frerin/Dis gang when they had been small children and had often protected her from her rougher brothers.  The friendship had continued as they had got older and he had been almost as devoted to her as he had been to Thorin.  He had been disappointed in her when she had married Vili, a dwarf not worthy of her, in his opinion.  And his thoughts had immediately flown to her when he first heard that her sons had been killed.

 

At his words, she glanced up for a moment and then continued to pack in silence.

 

“It didn’t work, you know,” he continued.

 

“I didn’t think it would,” she replied, “so that’s why I’m packing.”

 

“Where are you going?  Home?” was the next question.

 

“No, I thought I’d visit Dain in the Iron Hills before I headed back west,” she said.

 

“I’ll escort you,” he said.  “I’ll take you there and then I’ll bring you back to Erebor.  Perhaps you’ll see fit to apologise to Thranduil and Thorin by then.”

 

Her shoulders slumped and he put his arms around her.  She cried on his broad chest.  “It hurts so much,” she said.

 

“I know,” said Dwalin.  “But hurting others that you love will not take away your own pain.”

 

He brought out a large linen handkerchief and dabbed her blue eyes: eyes that looked so much like Thorin’s.  And then he stroked her long, black hair that felt and looked just like Thorin’s too.  “I’ll meet you down in the stable,” he said.  “I’ll throw some things together and leave a note for your brother.”

 

By the time Dwalin got back to his apartment, the kings had disappeared off to the dining hall.  He carefully straightened the rumpled bed and packed a bag.  He would be glad to get out into the big wide world again, away from Thorin. 

 

And, as he and Dis set out together for the Iron Hills, both of them were thinking that tomorrow was another day.

 

.o00o.

 

 

    

 

There. Hope you enjoyed that. And what about Dis and Dwalin? Is there room for a relationship between these two or will Thorin object? Next story: The Kings, Dwalin and Dis 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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